


Darkstache Week 2020

by gottawriteanegoortwo



Series: Darkstache [3]
Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), Youtube RPF, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: A splash of silliness is always good, Darkiplier is a sweetheart, Dilliam is only prevalent in the final chapter, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Wilford is a dork, but it is mentioned elsewhere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25772104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottawriteanegoortwo/pseuds/gottawriteanegoortwo
Summary: Darkstache Week - an entire week hosted by projectdarkstache on Tumblr dedicated to the ship that is Darkiplier and Wilford Warfstache.Information for the week prompts for 2019 can be found here.
Relationships: Dakiplier/Wilford Warfstache, Damien | The Mayor/Wilford Warfstache | William J. Barnum | The Colonel, darkstache
Series: Darkstache [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869343
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	1. Day One: Moonlight

When he was human, Dark loved the moon.

It was fitting, in a way. As a boy, Damien loved stepping outside to admire the moon from the garden, while Celine would push herself to catch the morning sunrise. It was another oddly thematic difference between the twins. Over the years, the moon was a constant for Damien. No matter where he went in life, no matter how alone he felt, there was always the comforting presence of the moon. 

He wasn’t a superstitious man, but Damien had noticed an interesting pattern. If a full moon was acknowledged overhead, it brought good fortune with it. He received his university place the evening after a full moon. His first big success as Mayor hit the headlines after a full moon. William confessed romantic interest in Damien under the light of a full moon. Unfortunately, it only stood to reason that the opposite would also be true. Noting the lack of the moon in a clear sky brought bad news with it. His favourite grandparent passed the morning after such a new moon. The absent moon braced Damien for the worst when he was handed a letter detailing the extent of William’s injuries while on duty. A scandal he was unknowingly wrapped up in blew into the public eye after a new moon, one that almost cut his professional reputation to shreds. Damien caught wind of Celine’s affair and William’s final decision on a new moon.

There was a new moon the night of the fated poker night that changed everything.

After that, the moon was yet another thing that abandoned Dark to the grim reality of his fate. Even when his mind was clouded with hate, revenge, and playing the ‘role’ assigned to him, he would regularly throw his eyes skyward when outside at night. The clear skies would reveal the absence of a comforting sentinel. As the years passed, and Dark broke out of the ‘role’, the moon neglected to return. Maybe it was for the best, in one way. 

Instead of the moon, a new presence emerged to keep Dark company - Wilford. The former soldier, moustache turning pinker as time passed, would manage to find Dark in a variety of different locations. It was the last thing Dark wanted. Why spend time with the man who not only broke his heart by choosing his sister over him, but had no recollection of ever doing so? It harked back to simpler times. Dark wasn’t sure if he wanted those memories to resurface in himself when he knew he could never be that man again.

* * *

But Wilford seemed intent. Despite his habits of one-night stands, he made a genuine effort to woo Dark. Flowers, fine wine (who knows how he got _that_ ), flirts. Sometimes, Wilford would do nothing at all and simply sit with Dark while the entity tried to focus on anything else. As with many things, it grew to be too much for Dark, and he attempted to push Wilford away through any means. Ultimately, this became a literal act. When Wilford tried to approach, Dark roughly shoved him back and hastily departed. He only made it to the car park of whatever abandoned building Dark had occupied before a warm hand slipped into one of Dark’s iced hands, tugging at the entity and forcing him to turn to face Wilford.

“Have I done somethin’ wrong?” Wilford sounded hurt. “I’ve been tryin’ ta get ya ta have drinks with me, or go on some sorta date. Ya don’t say yer not interested in me, but ya never take me on -”

“It’s not you.” Dark interrupted. By definition, he was right. **William** hurt him. **Wilford** never did. “The last time I let myself be vulnerable like that, the man I cared about ultimately chose someone else over me, despite swearing he loved me and that he would help make things work between us.” It was vague, but it might have been enough to jog a memory in the madman’s fragmented mind. He was relieved when it did no such thing. If anything, it made Wilford’s expression shift to something more thoughtful.

“So me sleepin’ ‘round is givin’ ya th’ same bad feelin’?” Dark didn’t answer, but it was confirmation regardless. There was a surge of warmth as a second hand covered Dark’s. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to stop that straight away. It’s a habit I can’t shake… But if ya have me, my love will only be yers.”

This was Dark’s sign to go. He knew this would only cause them both pain. It would hurt for them to stay together and realise they would not be suitable for each other. Wilford needed someone upbeat to keep him grounded, while Dark didn’t deserve anyone at all. It would hurt Wilford, but the memory of this moment would fade away once Dark kept out of sight long enough.

But why didn’t he make a move to leave? Why did his feet remain cemented where they were? What was it about Wilford that woke whatever humanity was still in his heart and made it sing in yearning for the other man? When Wilford lifted one hand to rest it against Dark’s cheek, why did he not pull away?

“Then can I promise ta try an’ be true. I don’t wanna hurt ya like th’ last guy did. Can I..?”

“Yes.” Whatever scraps of Damien still existed answered without hesitation. It was noticed by Wilford, whose smile appeared under the moustache as he leaned forward to kiss the other softly on the lips.

“C’mon. There’s this great little bar near here. Lemme buy ya a drink before I kiss ya again. It’s only good manners.” There was a moment’s pause, but Dark smiled and nodded. Boosted by the unexpected turn of events, Wilford led Dark out of the car park, hands intertwined. A light tug prompted Wilford to stop and throw a confused look to Dark, but the other didn’t notice. The other’s attention was skyward. “Somethin’ eatin’ at ya?”

“Oh… Nothing. Shall we?”

The pair crossed the street to the bar, watched silently by the full moon overhead.


	2. Day Two: Balloons/Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark is sick and he’s bed-ridden. Not only that, whatever is wrong means flower pollen makes him feel nauseous. If Wilford wants to bring his sick beloved a gift, he’ll need to be a little creative!

Dark and Wilford were an odd pair. Neither aged, neither could be officially classed as ‘human’ (though Wilford would insist there’s nothing ‘unhuman’ about him), and they were a perfect visual representation of the pastel/goth couple. Another interesting fact is when one of them falls ill, it affects them in a way that isn’t quite ‘normal’.

Dark was bedridden with what sounded like a bad cold, but went beyond that. It seemed as though he gained a temporary allergy to several things. To his boyfriend’s dismay, it included the smell of flowers. Any and all flowers or floral-scented items made him feel nauseous. It seemed a little baffling to the man in pink, much to Dr. Iplier’s frustration.

“But he loves flowers!” Wilford argued, arms folded in a childish huff. “I know he always makes himself out ta be a big scary guy who doesn’t like anythin’ at all, but he always has a bunch of flowers in -”

_“Wilford.”_ The doctor’s voice was stern as he cut over Wilford repeating his argument for the fourth time. “I know this is hard for you to understand, but it’s only while he’s sick. It’s also why he can’t have any bright lights in the room. Please understand that he needs to rest and you cannot bring him flowers.”

“But he-”

**“I KNOW.”**

* * *

With half a bar of chocolate dangling out of his mouth, Wilford sat cross-legged on the couch as he tried to think of what he could get Dark. A card had been written and sealed, but this was Dark! He couldn’t arrive empty handed! Wilford always had to make a grand gesture of affection in case the entity of his dreams forgot Wilford still adored him! He could burst in with the card in one hand and a bouqu-

He can’t bring flowers. Scribble out that idea.

But wouldn’t the loud noises bother Dark too? He could sneak in while Dark was asleep, place the card on the bedside table along with a single red - 

No flowers. Right.

“This is a lot harder than it oughta be,” Wilford groaned, slumping forward so his hands could support his stubbled chin. “ Gotta try an’ find a way ta pop these idea balloons…. _Of course!_ Jims!”

Two Jims conveniently appeared behind the couch with a “Yes, Pink Jim?”

“Do either of ya know where Dark hid my pump?”

“But Pink Jim. We were told you weren’t allowed to use it when interviewing -”

“I know, I know. I’m not gonna use it fer that! I’m gonna blow up some _balloons!_ It’ll be fun!” Wilford triumphantly rolled off the couch and set off to find that unopened pack of balloons he swore he had hidden in his desk. These and the pump were quickly discovered and Wilford set to work.

Before long, the dressing room was awash with colour. The original idea had been to blow up enough balloons to decorate the walls of the bedroom, but Wilford quickly discovered they were more akin to tubes than spheres. One of the Jims had grabbed several of the discarded sets and began twisting and wrapping them together until he made a ‘Balloon Jim’. Wilford watched on in confusion as the cogs creaked to life in his brain. They were modelling balloons!

“C’mon! Get me all th’ green ones. We got work ta do, boys!”

* * *

A dreamless sleep was disturbed by a gentler version of a familiar knocking rhythm on the door.

“Come in, Wil,” Dark murmured. The world itself had turned against him. He felt dizzy despite being horizontal, and the mere hint of the sun’s diminishing presence in the room was enough to make him woozy. But Wilford opened the door and partially entered.

“There’s my most handsomest devil. I gotcha a little somethin’ ta keep ya company. It looks so drab in here without any flowers -” Dark opened his mouth to correct Wilford, only for the reporter to lift his free hand, “- BUT I know ya can’t have ‘em. So I went fer th’ next best thing!”

“Fake replica flowers?”

There was a pause as Wilford’s moustache briefly drooped with a quiet “Damn, should’ve thought of that”. The smarter solution to the problem didn’t deter him as he fully entered the room to reveal a handful of four balloon flowers, complete with a bucket to keep them together. The four colours - orange, yellow, and two shades of pink - were merely chosen due to them being the only colours that didn’t pop on Wilford while attempting to arrange his balloon-floral masterpieces onto the green stems. Dark’s eyes widened at the bizarre sight, only for his expression to soften with a laugh.

“You always manage to think outside the box, don’t you? Come on, let’s leave them here so they can keep me company.” Wilford didn’t hesitate to cross the room to kneel and put them on the floor just beside Dark. While he would have liked them to sit on the table, the bucket was too large (and the outside probably had dried on mud from its time outside). As Wilford tried to stand up again, he felt a hand in his hair.

“I think you might be needing this,” Dark smiled, offering a popped strand of white balloon that had nestled perfectly in Wilford’s black curls. “But thank you. This was very thoughtful of you.”

“If I can make ya smile, it’s worth th’ thinkin’ power.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/617841063989854208/darkstache-week-day-two-balloonsflowers) and backdated to match that.
> 
> Did I mention that my Wilford is absolutely a himbo? Because he is.


	3. Day Three: Feeling Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Wilford is sad, things look blue. Literally. It’s up to Dark to fix this!

It was unusual to spend the morning without a greeting of some sort from Wilford, but there had been no sign of the reporter from the moment Dark woke. It was strange, since Dark was a light sleeper. But as the hours ticked by, it came to the entity’s attention that not only had Dark not seen him, no one else had either. By mid-afternoon, Dark decided to sort matters out for himself.

The common hangout spots in the building were empty. The familiar outdoor places were too, but it only led him to a roller skate rink that was closed for renovations. Dark would have walked past it, only that the building appeared to be glowing blue. If there was ever anything abnormal, Wilford might be involved.

As Dark materialised in the main rink, the blue lights gave off a bright glow that briefly distorted his shell. It split in two, only to slam back together in a manner that nearly gave Dark whiplash. He took several slow breaths, gathering his bearing to notice Wilford sitting in the middle of the rink. He was curled up, forehead resting against his tucked knees.

“Will?”

“Ya ever feel so lost that ya don’t know what yer doin’ anymore?” Wilford’s voice was quiet, yet it echoed around the empty space. “It’s all so… pointless.”

“Maybe, but it won’t be pointless forever.” Dark walked through the blue glow until he stood beside Wilford. He only sat down once he was sure there would be no repercussions. “It’s like the sky. Every day, the sky is blue, but we can’t always see it, right?” Wilford nodded to show he was following, which prompted Dark to continue. “Clouds pass by, adding various shades of white and grey to the endless blue. But some days, those clouds turn dark and blot every trace of blue out of sight. Everything looks gloomy, and sometimes it even rains. But answer me this: does it always rain?”

There was a short pause, before a quiet “no…” was given in response.

“Precisely. The rain, however miserable it might be, will pass. You might not know how long it will be there for, but it won’t rain forever. The clouds will pass, and you’ll see that blue sky again. If it is night before they pass, that’s alright. The morning will always bring a new start.” When Wilford lifted his head, the entity gave a reassuring smile despite the other’s uncertain look.

“But… What’s rain gotta do with me? I’m not a god of rain… Am I? Is there some sorta memo I didn’t get? Can I -?” Wilford was swiftly interrupted by a cold hand resting on his.

“It’s alright. You aren’t in possession of such powers. What I meant was this: this too will pass, in time. I’ll be here right by your side until you feel like yourself again. Which you will, don’t worry.” It might take all day, but it would be worth it. Wilford didn’t try giving an answer. Instead, he rested his head against Dark’s shoulder. A content sigh slipped out when the entity wrapped an arm around Wilford to keep him close.

“Will… why don’t we both take the evening off work so we can watch a movie? We can watch that one with the little yellow creatures. What do you say?” His question hung in the air, but the blue around them started to fade.

“Only if I can make us my special brandy hot chocolate.” Wilford raised his eyebrows in a playful manner. Dark nodded in agreement, and the pair disappeared from the rink just as the construction workers returned from break.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/617942144307593216/darkstache-week-day-three-feeling-blue) and backdated to match that.


	4. Day Four: Video

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being kicked out of the house by mistake, Wilford decides to start working on a little surprise for Dark. It’s silly, it’s cheesy, but it’s entirely Wilford.

“If you’re so sure of your love, why not go somewhere else with it and leave me alone?!”

Wilford was an affectionate man with the worst timing. Surprising Dark on a day off with a breakfast consisting of homemade pancakes topped with maple syrup, chocolate, and strawberries would have made anyone’s heart flutter… But this was Dark, whose stress levels were to the eyeballs. The pancakes were met with a fury, and resulted in an argument. Those words were snapped to Wilford before the entity used his abilities to teleport Wilford out of the house and into the back garden.

“Well, shit,” Wilford grumbled. He pulled himself onto his feet, thankful the young rose bush was unharmed, and made his way to the back door. It was locked. For now, he was barred from the house. Fortunately, an old shed neither used had been the focus of an old labour of love and was converted into a mini studio. It was ideal for when Mark and Wilford were recording or brainstorming skits together. Right now, it would be his shelter from the bitter cold of Dark’s heart.

(Plus, it was unlocked after he forgot to lock it last time. Score!)

The first little while was spent fixing some shelves. For reasons Wilford wasn’t bothered figuring out, he had a natural talent for handyman work. Shelves, electrical wiring, even basic plumbing were things that he could somehow work on and complete quite well. But as always, his attention grew scattered, and he was recording a video before he knew where he was. No crew, no skits, no props. Just him and the camera.

* * *

“Will? Will?” A worried Dark crept into the shed. It was evening. He hadn’t realised the extent of what he had done until he emerged after the bulk of his stress had been worked out through phone calls and emails. To his immense relief, Wilford was asleep at the desk with the computer screen still running. Oddly enough, it appeared that Wilford was editing footage of himself. But as Dark tried to move the mouse to save the file and turn off the computer, the video sprung to life.

“Hi Handsome. Ya said I was ta go off an’ do somethin’ with my love… So I did! I haven’t got a lot here, but I made this video outta love. Because… I love ya a lot. Even if I interrupt a meetin’ with pancakes, or I roll over somethin’ important in my sleep, or I try ta pull ya outside fer a quick smooch durin’ a meetin’. I wanna remind ya every day that ya mean the world ta me. No matter what happens, yer always gonna be my favourite shadow in th’ whole world. Not even my own shadow wins first place.” He paused with a mischievous grin, which only encouraged Dark to softly chuckle. The video continued on as something dropped behind him and Wilford had to hurry to fix that. It appeared that the video was still a work in progress. 

Deciding to let the video be a surprise, Dark saved it and minimised the program before gently shaking Wilford.

“Will..? Come on, you need to come inside and warm up.” As usual, the reporter grumbled in protest and curled up a little more. “Very well. I guess I’ll have to go back inside and lie on the couch all by myself -”

“Nooo…” Wilford whined, blindly reaching up to grab Dark’s hands. “Stay here with me..”

“Absolutely not. You’re sprawled on a desk. That’s both terribly uncomfortable and unhealthy. I owe you an apology and I’d rather do it in the house, alright?” Eventually, Wilford pulled himself onto his feet, insisting Dark turned away so he couldn’t see what was on the screen. 

The video was a simple proof of adoration, but it would be kept as a surprise for the perfect day when there was no work at all to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/618028293851086848/darkstache-week-day-four-video) and backdated to match that.


	5. Day Five: Danger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dark makes the mistake of suggesting they do something unique for a date night.

“When you said you wanted to take me on a ‘date night like no other’, this really isn’t what I had in mind.”

The pair stood in front of a large chest in a cavern dimly lit by torches. Wilford, looking fashionable in armour that was dyed pink, grinned as he started rummaging through the chest.

“Yer always sayin’ ya wanna ‘get out’ fer a while, an’ do somethin’ fun. This is exactly whatcha need ta unwind!” A sword was pulled out and twirled with a flourish, only for the flat of the blade to hit the side of his helmet. Very impressive. This was sheathed so he could offer Dark a bow and a quiver. “I think y’d be good at this one. Also means ya can keep outta immediate danger when monsters come a-lurkin’!”

“… You weren’t kidding when you’d say we’d fight monsters, were you?” Dark sighed, reluctantly accepting the weapons. He might not want to be here, but it was nice to spend time with Wilford without everyone calling for his attention. Maybe this would be nice.

* * *

Deep into the perilous dungeon did our noble adventurers voyage. Torches were raised up high to light the way and prevent shadow-monsters from launching a sneak attack. Some ancient coins were found scattered on the floor, but disaster struck as Wilford bent down to gather them. It was a trap! Skeletal zombies burst through the fake wall, swarming into the small chamber. With the door they entered locked through magical means, the pair would have to slay every beast in the chamber to escape their fate.

Wilford charged. His sword was raised high in the air to provide enough momentum to crack one zombie’s head open. The zombie attempted to grab him, but he kicked it back to collide with another zombie with such force, the pair crumbled into a pile of bones! As he knocked another back with the bottom of his sword handle, an arrow bounced harmlessly off the zombie’s skull. 

“That’s th’ spirit!”

“That didn’t even do anything!” Dark countered, but it was drowned out by three zombies approaching the swordsman. Wilford grinned as he spun, elegantly slashing one of the zombies before continuing the swing until his blade was plunged in another’s ribcage. He was on fire! There was nothing that could be done to stop the marvellous Wilford!

That is, aside from the blade getting stuck in the ribcage.

In his valiant efforts to pull it out, a skeleton grabbed him from behind and bit into his shoulder. More staggered over, until the pink warrior was swarmed by them. His energy was falling fast. Injuries would soon make him vulnerable.

A skull was sent flying with one clean hit. Another skeleton’s arm suffered the same fate. Dark, armed with a femur bone, turned the head of it to aggressively knock back the skeleton holding Wilford back. The unexpected onslaught from Dark provided enough time for Wilford to reclaim his sword and help finish the challenge.

It was vicious and chaotic, but the pair defeated the violent skeletal horde. They turned to their reward: a large chest in the corner of the area the skeletons had been hiding. Wilford gestured for Dark to enter first, and the entity gingerly opened the chest to reveal -

“Are you _serious_?” Dark lightly shoved a cackling Wilford off the couch. “We nearly _died_ for some animal meat and a record track?”

“That’s not th’ point of goin’ on an adventure! Th’ fun is in th’ exploration, th’ fightin’, th’ honour, th’ glory!” He raised a triumphant fist in the air to emphasise his argument. Unfortunately, his gusto was met with mild indifference.

“It’s Minecraft, darling. I do believe it’s not that complicated.” Dark shook his head, though there was a smile breaking through the serious facade. “Why don’t we do something else with our evening? I’d rather not have to spend it saving you constantly in dungeons.” There was a pause as Wilford tried to think, before an idea struck him.

“I’ve been workin’ on this house-thing with Bing. We’ve been tryin’ ta imagine some sorta ‘manor’ where all of us live together an’-” On Wilford went as he saved and restarted the game to show the new save file. He climbed back onto the couch, pleasantly surprised when Dark shifted himself to curl up against him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/618121509556420608/darkstache-week-day-five-danger) and backdated to match that.


	6. Day Six: Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wilford can cook. Dark cannot, and hopes he can get out of the kitchen unscathed by the time the meal for their guests is ready.

It was a rare situation to see Dark look so unsure about doing something. It had been easy to agree to help Wilford prepare dinner for guests, but it was much more daunting to be in the kitchen as they finished washing their hands to get to work.

Wilford was known to be an easy-going man who would ‘go with the flow’. If accidents happened, they happened. No big deal. That changed in the kitchen. Cooking was a skill Wilford had developed to the point of being a tall terror once the food was out. Dark suspected it was a repressed memory of his time at war, when food in the trenches would be nothing more than rationed scraps, and William vowing he would learn how to cook once he returned home. Because of this, it was the one area Wilford was a perfectionist about. Everything had to be perfect, especially with guests.

But while Dark ate meals with his partner, he rarely cooked anymore. He’d have to be careful.

“Hey, there’s no need ta look at me like I’ve walked outta some horror movie.” Like a shark smelling blood, Wilford had caught the scent of Dark’s unease. “It’s only a few simple jobs I have fer ya. An’ anyway, it’s only a hearty stew. Most of th’ cookin’ time is lettin’ it cook.”

‘Only’ a hearty stew. Wilford said it like it wasn’t his signature dish. Dark grimaced once Wilford turned his back to gather the utensils. There were horror stories of those who had tried helping Wilford in the staff kitchen when he’d offer to cook lunch. Bing nearly short-circuited after a knife Wilford threw cut his arm. Host discovered Yandereplier using a spatula and a wooden spoon to protect themselves from a spoiled carrot that was thrown at them. It wasn’t that Wilford was a terror in the kitchen, it was more that he had high expectations for everyone, including himself.

‘Good food means good times’. It was something Wilford insisted in one of his more somber moments. Maybe that was the approach Dark needed to take. Since he was still relearning the basics of cooking, Wilford might not be so harsh on him. By the time Wilford passed over the vegetable to peel, Dark was feeling a lot calmer about his situation.

The quiet hum of the radio was the only background noise as the pair worked on their different tasks. Dark was being meticulous with the peeler, but he was painfully aware that he was working very slowly. He could feel Wilford watching his every move, and his peripheral vision seemed to prove this. The truth would not be revealed as Wilford instead added the next ingredients to the large pot and stirred it.

Dark finally finished preparing his vegetables, which meant he needed to start chopping them into slices. He halved the first carrot and began slicing, only to fumble.

“Problem?” In a blink, Wilford was looming over his shoulder. The entity maintained a cool composure and shook his head.

“Timed it wrong,” he lied. Dark was always too proud to admit his mistakes.

“Liar.” Dark squinted, tilting his head to glare at Wilford following that sharp response. Wilford’s expression was steeled at first, but quickly softened to reveal a smile. “It’s okay if ya dunno what yer doin’.”

“However, you have an expectation.”

“Not from someone who’s learnin’. C’mere, lemme help.” Wilford, taking advantage of his height, stood behind Dark and placed his warm hands over the entity’s cold ones. “Th’ trick is ta hold yer knife like -”

“Wilford. You’re avoiding my point.” Only that Wilford was so close, Dark would have stepped back. Their closeness meant that Wilford could kiss Dark on the cheek.

“If ya told me ya were very good at cookin’ an’ lied, or can’t follow simple instructions, then I’d be strict. But it’s not fair ta be that stern when yer new to this. Y’d never learn that way.” Wilford leaned forward just enough to try and gauge Dark’s response. When nothing was said, he smiled and pulled back just enough to rest his chin on Dark’s shoulder. “An’ anyway, I get ta teach _you_ fer a change. Can’t say that happens too often, eh?”

“No, I suppose it doesn’t.” With his worries defeated with an honest explanation, Dark pressed back against Wilford as a masterclass on successfully chopping vegetables began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/618197606055706624/darkstache-week-day-six-dinner) and backdated to match that.


	7. Day Seven: Ordinary People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After years of causing chaos and trouble as the Actor, Mark uses his new freedom to bring the fictional world he ruled back to the modern real world. But what about Dark and Wilford?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this, Actor Mark IS YouTuber Mark, and is written in a sympathetic light. 
> 
> Also, this is the Dilliam prompt.

If he was asked, Mark would admit he had no idea when he felt like ‘himself’ again. It had been decades since the troubled actor’s heart was shattered, the will to live had vanished, and the ability to die eluded him. His broken soul was utterly consumed by the terrors of the Manor’s arcanic past until he became a god-like figure in a world of his own creation. Former friends were moulded and reshaped into characters to suit his schemes. Poor, innocent souls over the decades were pulled into the cat-and-mouse plot to populate the worlds. Drama and chaos were on the regular schedule, and how the Actor thrived!

But now… Peace. And Mark was baffled by it.

He remembered standing at the edge of the city, watching the sun rise like he had never seen the day before. In all the years of darkness and being pulled like a puppet by unseen forces, maybe that was the truth. A new life, a new start. The ‘performances’ he had been part of were failed attempts to gain control over a world that had torn him to pieces and tossed him in the trash. All they achieved was pain and suffering. As he recognised this and wanted to do good, the world he had mastery over was fading and merging with the real world - the one he had left behind. With new independence, he was losing grip over whatever powers he had before. No more would he be able to cheat death or restart time. This was it, the final ‘act’. He didn’t feel sorry for himself. Mark was finally ready to break free from the puppet strings and start over… But there were two in particular he needed to apologise to. Trying to face Dark or Wilford now would result in mockery or gunfire (or both). However, from his spot on the hill, he could see a new opportunity. He could reverse the crimes that were cast. Let them and all their old friends live the lives they were meant to in this new, modern world.

Mark opened his arms wide as the light of the morning sun hit his weary body. At last, the game was up. He could set everything right.

* * *

* * *

“Ah, there’s the man of the hour, Damien himself!” A familiar voice sang as he entered the office with his usual dramatic flair. 

“It’s ‘Mayor Brooks’ while you are here, Mark. But it is good to see you.” Damien countered, playfully rolling his eyes. Even if Mark was a big internet celebrity, he made it his mission to check in regularly on Damien. It was a nice relief, even if the pair were trying to regain grounds on their friendship. Mark had dated his twin sister in university, but the manner in which the pair broke up was so dramatic, it caused a rift between the two young men. At least a friendship from childhood was not one that could be broken forever. He saved the document he was typing and closed the laptop. “If you are here, can I assume there is some great problem going on in your world?”

“Oh, no no. All good on my end!” Mark slumped onto the sofa to the side of the office with a laugh. “I recorded one huge game over the weekend and scored myself some free time. What better way to spend it than with my favourite politician?”

“As much as I appreciate the compliment, I would gather that your other friends are busy and you don’t have anyone else to turn to.” However blunt the statement might be, there was a smile on Damien’s face as he fell back onto the free half of the couch. Mark responded with a loud gasp and a hand on his chest, which only prompted Damien to lightly push him.

“How dare you! I’ll have you know I came here to see if you wanted to grab a coffee with me. I found ten bucks in my pants pocket this morning and I wanna splash out. Come on, Dames! Doesn’t your favourite coffee place have the best pumpkin spiced latte on this side of the city?”

“Mark, it’s May. They aren’t going to make that for you.” Now it was Damien’s turn to be pushed as Mark waved the ten dollar bill in his face.

“I think you’ll find myself and mister Alexander Hamilton will disagree with tha- HEY!” Letting his guard down was a mistake, as Damien took the chance to snatch the money out of his hand and jump onto his feet. “You crooked politician! Stealing the money of an innocent, hard-working man like me!”

Damien fetched his coat with a chuckle. “For someone who wants coffee, you don’t seem very keen in moving for it.” It worked, and a childishly offended Mark pulled himself off the couch. The money was returned to Mark as the pair exited the office. Damien did need a break, he decided as he locked the door after him.

* * *

Mark was an interesting man. He could act loud and brash, but it was only a mask that hid a soul that seemed older than thirty. Damien used to joke that Mark might be an old man stuck in a young body. The walk to the coffee shop took the usual diversion through a nearby park so they could swap stories and chat without the rush of the world shoving them forward. Mark and his content creator friends were busy working on a variety of projects, and he himself admitted he was feeling happier in himself than he had been in recent years. Likewise, Damien had been working on completing some important jobs around the city and trying to get some new schemes underway. It was busy, but rewarding. In times like this, neither had to play the part cast for them by society. They could be themselves, just like old times. It meant that Damien was more relaxed and jovial by the time they reached their destination.

The coffee shop had the familiar busy hum to it as the pair entered. Since Damien was a regular, there was never any fanfare of the mayor visiting their business. Mark’s ‘perfect’ disguise of a worn baseball cap and his glasses seemed to do the job of keeping a low profile. Surprisingly, the barista did indeed agree to make a pumpkin spiced latte for Mark, as well as Damien’s regular order. Both drinks and two large muffins were covered by the ten dollar bill, much to Mark’s delight. For now, they simply had to wait for their drinks.

“- And still no sign of a special someone?” It was a question Mark frequently asked. Damien seemed content to be ‘married’ to his work, but Mark would argue that the companionship would make the heavy workload more bearable. They both knew it was true, but Damien was a stubborn man. He was too proud to deal with blind dates, and seemed insistent on waiting for ‘the right person’. Instead, Damien countered with a question about Amy and how she and the two dogs were doing. A simple diversion, but a wholesome one, as Mark could share silly moments and photos on his phone, and Damien could enjoy the tales. How could he not be happy for his friend? It seemed like things were finally looking up for him.

At that, Mark’s drink and the muffins were ready, but there was no sign of Damien’s drink. He insisted Mark go fetch a table while Damien continued waiting. Several long minutes passed as people who ordered similar drinks received theirs, and Damien was tempted to ask one of the staff about his drink. Just as he was about to, the door slammed open as a man stumbled in.

“Geez, man! Could you not break that door, please?” The manager shouted at the stranger, who hurried over and apologised profusely while ordering his ‘usual’ summer iced drink and telling a story about a kid outside throwing ice-cream at him. Damien pulled out his phone to try and look busy, but his eyes strayed from the screen and darted to the man.

The stranger was a head taller than Damien and had a broad build that was emphasised by the fitted white t-shirt and jogging pants he was wearing. His black, curly hair looked somewhat erratic, while the large, bushy moustache reminded Damien of the chief of police from a TV show he loved. Facial hair of that style wasn’t in season anymore - not to mention this wasn’t as eloquently groomed as other moustaches would have been - so it was likely something important to the man. His face was framed by a sturdy jawline, which gave a somewhat intimidating air. But his eyes… Were looking in Damien’s direction. Oops.

The Mayor gulped and returned his attention to his phone.

“It’s rude to stare, you know.” Damien jumped at the sudden voice and presence beside him. The stranger had stepped closer without him realising it. “Is something wrong? Did that kid get ice-cream on my shirt?”

“No, your shirt is fine.” Damien responded quickly, intending to leave it at that. But the stranger stayed firm, bringing a sigh out of the politician. “I’m sorry. I know it’s rude to stare. I thought I recognised you, that’s all.” 

“And do you?” The stranger sounded genuinely curious. That was enough to prompt Damien to lock and pocket his phone.

“I’m not sure. I feel like I do, and I wouldn’t forget a moustache like that, but I can’t place anything… Even if it feels like it’s on the tip of my tongue.” Realising how odd that sounded, his shoulders slumped in resignation. “I’m sorry, this all sounds rather bizarre from a complete stranger -”

“No!” Both men were taken aback at the stranger’s interruption. “Er, no. Sorry. It doesn’t sound weird. I feel the same. I feel like I know you -”

“I’m the Mayor. That’s hardly a surprise.”

“- yeah, but like I _know_ know you, you know?” The stranger shook his head, curls bouncing with a nervous chuckle. “I think this is a sign. Maybe we ought to get to know each other properly, just in case we met in a dream.” A large hand was offered to Damien. “The name’s William Barnum, but friends can call me -”

“The Colonel.” Damien finished. Confusion was mirrored on both faces.

“How did you -”

“I don’t know?” No matter how he tried to place a specific memory with the phrase, nothing came to mind. Instead, he pushed it aside. “My name is Damien Brooks. Despite the rather odd circumstances, it is a pleasure to meet you.” The large hand was taken, and they gave a firm shake.

Immediately, a memory crossed Damien’s mind. This man had pink in his hair. His own hands were gray. Mark had a shadowed, wicked grin on his face. But as soon as it came, it vanished, like trying to recall a fading dream. 

“Hey, Damien?” William’s dark eyes had drifted aside as he tried to encourage the words to come to him. “Do you want to go out for lunch this week?” A simple question made Damien’s heart skip a beat as an all-too familiar sensation of butterflies in his stomach manifested.

“Are - are you asking me out on a date?”

“Yeah… Is that too forward? I feel like it’s the right thing to do. You’re very handsome.” 

Strange. Why did Damien feel like William had complimented him like that a hundred times before? Stranger still, why did it make him feel so happy to hear the nervous rambling? He reluctantly pulled his hand away so he could snatch a napkin from the counter and the pen in his pocket. A phone number was hastily scribbled on it, before it was scratched out and written neater. Just in case, his name was noted underneath.

“Here. Text me later. If you’re free, we could always… Go for dinner?” It also felt like the right thing to do, like it was a regular event. William seemed to agree, as his face lit up. Upon receiving the napkin, it was treated like something sacred by William, who carefully folded and placed in his wallet.

“Yeah! That’d be - I’d really like that - _Bully.”_ That exclamation of relief shouldn’t bring a familiar tugging of heartstrings to Damien, but it did. Only that he was with Mark (and that he has a job to return to), Damien would have gladly gone wherever William was going. 

Both names were called as the drinks were finally ready. Each one was lifted, and the pair gave their parting words and a promise to arrange something as soon as William returned home. But just as Damien was about to turn and walk to the table, William leaned down enough to kiss him on the cheek, hurrying off before anything else could happen. All Damien could do was watch the larger man disappear with a wistful smile before turning to find Mark at the table.

“You’re putting the local tomatoes to shame. You okay?” Mark asked, innocently sipping his latte. It was still mostly full. The drink itself looked hot. How long had that moment actually lasted?

“I’ve got a date tonight.” Damien was so embarrassed after blurting his answer, he didn’t notice how Mark’s surprise was an act. “I started talking to a guy up at the counter and - well, we’re meeting for dinner.”

“I’m so happy for you, man. Look at you, getting out there and being ambitious! I’m sure he’ll be a great guy!” Mark grinned, letting the topic drop so the Mayor could get his head around the ‘unexpected’ event. 

While they were talking after the drinks were finished, a text arrived on Damien’s phone. Mark realised there was a number rather than a name, but it brought a smile to Damien’s face. The Youtuber waved his hand and insisted Damien needed to ‘urgently’ answer it. As the Mayor did so, Mark noticed how the shadow that was always looming over Damien finally dissipated. At last, the malicious claws from a lifetime ago were gone, and with that, Mark’s own powers.

But what did the loss of powers matter when he was able to use them to help Dark and Wilford start a new relationship together? They could live as normal, _ordinary_ people, just like Dark had always vowed when confronting the Actor. Today: the Actor was dead, Mark was alive, and the curse holding them all down had been broken for good.

Now, if only Celine would talk to him so they could become friends again…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/618285528167710720/darkstache-week-day-seven-ordinary-people) and backdated to match that.
> 
> This might be one of my favourite pieces I've written in recent times.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [gottawriteanegoortwo](https://gottawriteanegoortwo.tumblr.com/post/617744234004512768/darkstache-week-day-one-moonlight) and backdated to match that.


End file.
